Bone of Contention
by Shellecah
Summary: Tensions flare when Chester defies orders and interferes in a gunfight between Matt and Hec Ranger.
1. Chapter 1

Matt sensed a current drifting through the doorway with the stranger, like smoke from a fired gun sucking at the hot moist air in the marshal's office. The man left the door open to the blazing sun. As Chester dozed on the bed after a breakfast of cold pone and coffee, Matt put his copy of the Dodge City Times on the desk, rose from his chair and moved to face the stranger, looking down some seven inches into intense eyes of a curious bright gold shade.

"You mind closing the door there?" said Matt. "The heat's comin' in."

"Sure," said the man. "You're Marshal Dillon."

The unfamiliar voice roused Chester from his light sleep. His straight dark hair mussed over his forehead, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring at the stranger.

"He your deputy?" the man said to Matt.

"What's your name, stranger?" said the marshal.

"Ranger. Hec Ranger."

"What can I do for you, Ranger?"

Ranger bared white teeth in a smile. A lean handsome man in his mid-thirties with classically sculpted features and a clean brown complexion, he wore a dove-gray linen suit with matching hat and tie, and a pale-blue silk shirt and vest. "You can fight me, Marshal," he said.

Chester stood up. "You the marshal's deputy?" said Ranger.

"You joshin', Mister?" said Matt. "I don't have the time if you are."

"Looks to me like you have plenty of time. Him, too." Ranger nodded at Chester. "And I aint joshin'."

"You mean a fistfight?" said Chester.

"Nope. Gunfight."

"Gracious," said Chester. Ranger chuckled.

"I don't know what your game is, Ranger," said Matt, "but if you expect me to just go out in the street and draw on you, you're a fool."

"Heard tell you're fast, Marshal. I calculate I can beat you. Both of us bein' fast, can't no witness track who draws first. Follow me?"

"You're saying you'll draw first," said Matt.

"I aint saying. If I say it, he witnesses my words." Ranger nodded at Chester again. "I'm not wanted for anything. Figure Dodge for a favorable town to headquarter in my line of work. That is, if you're dead, Marshal."

"Where're you staying, Ranger," said Matt.

"Dodge House."

"Pack your bag and get out of town. I'm not fighting you."

"No." Ranger shook his head. "I heard about that trick of yours, snatching a fella's gun from his holster. You try that with me, Marshal, I'll shoot you before your fingers touch my gun butt. You fight me now in the street or I'll shoot you and him right here." He jerked his head at Chester. "There'll be no witnesses," said Ranger. "You try and hit me, I'll pull the trigger before the punch lands."

"Alright," said Matt. He felt no trepidation, only anger burning his gut at being forced to fight, which riled him enough to want to kill Ranger. The marshal reached for his gunbelt and strapped it on.

Ranger opened the door. "After you, Marshal," he said, gesturing.

"You're the one wants a fight, Ranger," said Matt. "You go out first."

Ranger narrowed his eyes and looked from Matt to Chester. "I don't wanna get shot in the back," said Ranger.

"I don't shoot men in the back," said Matt. "You want to fight, you walk out first."

Ranger walked into the street, turned left and paced twenty long steps. Front Street was deserted, the townsfolk indoors away from the scorching sun. Not the slightest breeze stirred the dust outside.

"_What are you waiting for, Marshal?" _Ranger shouted. _"You yella? You and your friend try to bushwhack me, it won't work. I have eyes like a hawk; I could pick you off from fifty paces!" _

Matt hesitated, seeing Chester was desperate to talk to him and do something the marshal thought might jeopardize his friend's life. Whatever it was, Matt had to tell him not to do it.

"I'll get a shotgun, Mr. Dillon," Chester said breathlessly. "We'll ambush him through the windows."

"No." Matt took hold of Chester's arm as he lunged toward the row of weapons on the wall. "You know I can't do that."

"I can," said Chester. "You go on out an' stand off from him, and I'll shoot 'im through the window 'fore he kin draw."

"_No," _said the marshal. "That'd be murder, Chester."

"I don't _care_," said Chester. "Aint a body out there anywheres to see me shoot 'im 'cept you, so you won't haveta throw me in jail. He said he's faster'n you, Mr. Dillon."

"I don't think he is," said Matt. "If he was so fast, I would've heard of him."

"Cuz you aint heard of 'im don't mean he isn't _fast_," Chester argued.

"_Dillon!" _Ranger yelled. _"You get on out here or I'm comin' in after you!" _

"_My gun's jammed," _Matt hollered through the window. _"Just a minute."_

"_Better be a short minute!" _Ranger shouted.

"Stay inside, Chester," said Matt.

"I won't set by whilst he shoots you down like Dan Grat done," said Chester, his voice low and shaking. "I'm drawin' a bead on Ranger through the window."

"_No," _said Matt. He tried to stare Chester down, waited for him to say "Yessir." Chester said nothing. He set his jaw and glared into the marshal's eyes until Matt stalked out.

As Matt walked with a measured tread into the street, his boots crunching the powdery hot dirt, Ranger's voice buffeted his ears, taunting him. _"It's about time, Marshal. Thought you were too scared to fight, or you and your man were gonna shoot me through the window." _

Matt's anger faded, replaced by an intensified alertness. He knew with a strong innate surety that he would outdraw Ranger, and that knowledge in itself would quicken the marshal's hand. Ever since Dan Grat's bullet nearly killed him, Matt had practiced his draw in the clearing behind the depot, and invoked the assurance deep within himself with every succeeding fight.

The marshal could not explain it to Chester, who wouldn't understand, as fear fueled Chester's courage. Fear rarely touched Matt. He felt instead an almost painful invigoration of his nerves and senses, like the time three ruffians encountered him on the open prairie without Buck or a gun.

With the sun burning his back through his vest and shirt, Matt planted his boots apart, squared his shoulders and waited for Ranger's lean form to jerk forward for the draw.

Chester closed the door behind Matt, rushed to pull a shotgun from the wall and loaded the weapon, his heart hammering. Sheltered inside the office, he felt no fear of Ranger at the moment. If the gunman fired at him, Chester could duck below the window and shoot Ranger from cover. What scared Chester was the thought of Ranger shooting Matt.

Choosing to face a riled marshal instead of a dead one, Chester positioned the shotgun barrel through the window, aimed at Ranger and heaved a deep breath. _"Ranger!" _Chester shouted. _"Over here!" _

Knowing at once what Chester was about, the marshal forced his eyes to stay riveted on the gunman. Matt drew his gun a heartbeat faster as Ranger spun to face the window and raised his six-shooter at Chester holding the shotgun.

Two against one threw the stakes off balance, which was not what Matt wanted although Ranger had compelled him to fight. Matt saw no point in yelling _Hold it _at the gunman, who clearly thought Chester would shoot him.

The marshal figured that Chester did not intend to shoot Ranger. To turn the game in Matt's favor, Chester would dive below the window as Ranger shot at him. Though Matt wanted a fair one-on-one fight, he couldn't be sure that Chester would duck Ranger's bullet in time to miss getting hit, so Matt knew he had to shoot Ranger before the gunman fired at Chester. So long as Chester didn't pull the trigger first, the maneuver for a lawman would pass muster in the eyes of any judge.

Calculating it all in the shade of an instant after Chester shouted at Ranger, Matt shot the gunman as he aimed at Chester in the window. Matt's bullet struck Ranger's left side before he could shoot at Chester, who as Matt expected ducked below the window without firing a shot.

Ranger's body jolted and he dropped the gun, pitching forward on his face. His hat bounced off as he hit the ground. Matt holstered his gun. Though Ranger had driven him to fight and Chester had acted against his orders, the gunman's unsavory character aside, Matt felt he'd played Ranger a dirty trick.

Matt approached Ranger as Chester opened the door and stepped onto the walk. Chester reached Ranger first, took hold of his shoulder and turned him on his back. He was alive, his gold eyes filmed over and squinting in the sunlight. Framed by close-cropped, wiry dark curls, his handsome face was contorted.

Matt picked up Ranger's gun and stood looking down at him. "Coward," Ranger said feebly. Matt flinched before he could stop himself. "Your bullet's up under my ribs," said Ranger.

"Go find some men to carry him to Doc's," said Matt, not looking at Chester, who noted that the marshal did not address him by name as Matt habitually did when he gave Chester an order.

"Yes, sir," Chester said quietly, and hurried away to find the men. Mr. Dillon had spoken in his normal calm steady tone, his face showing no anger. Sensing rather than seeing the marshal's displeasure, Chester rushed to two ranch hands who looked strong enough to carry the slim gunman.

Matt's ire aroused no dread in Chester. Believing he had to disobey orders to save Matt's life, Chester had braced himself to endure aloofness and chiding. The prospect of Mr. Dillon turning him out, though, of losing the marshal's friendship, chilled him to his bones. He dripped cold sweat just thinking about it.

With Chester at his side, though somewhat further away from him than usual, Matt walked to Doc's ahead of the two cowboys carrying Ranger. Chester figured Doc might need his help digging out the bullet.

Chester's interference in the fight stunned Matt. He had to make his friend understand that if Matt couldn't trust him, the marshal could trust no man in Dodge, except of course Doc, and how Chester had endangered himself, and how it wasn't a fair fight with Ranger because he interfered. Hardest of all, Matt had to explain the whole without hurting Chester, who the marshal knew had risked his disapproval to save his life, though Matt hadn't needed saving.

"His name's Hec Ranger," Matt said as Doc unbuttoned Ranger's bloody vest and shirt. "He had no chance to pull off a shot. All he did was threaten, call me out and draw his gun. If he survives, he goes free, Doc."

Doc paused in collecting his surgical implements to give Matt a surprised look. "Really," said Doc. Matt nodded, gazing at Ranger, whose face had gone pallid under his brown skin.

Doc turned his keen eyes on Chester, who was rolling up his sleeves to help with the operation, glanced again at Matt, and looked back to Chester. "You up to this, Chester?" said Doc. "You look peaked."

"I'm fine, Doc," said Chester, not meeting Doc's eyes. "Jest got a li'l too much sun, maybe."

The marshal looked at Chester, and guilt smote Matt like a punch to the gut. _I didn't say anything to him yet, _Matt protested at himself.

"You think this fella will come after you again, Matt?" said Doc, his forceps probing the wound between Ranger's ribs. Blood seeped from the wound, and Chester sponged it.

"I don't know," said Matt. "The way you're mangling him, I won't have to worry about that a spell."

"Only way to get the bullet out," said Doc. "He's not feeling it. I'll dose him with morphine when he wakes out of the chloroform." With a look of triumph, he held up a blood-coated bullet pinched in the forceps. Blood spilled from the hole in Ranger's side, and Chester pressed the sponge against the wound as Doc threaded a needle with catgut.

"He'll survive unless infection kills him," said Doc. He pressed the lips of the wound together and started stitching. "There's usually some fever with gunshot. Young fella like this should come through alright. It's a fairly deep wound, but the bullet missed his organs somehow. He's lucky. Since he's still a free man, particular."

"Chester," said Matt. "We're going to the office."

"You need fer me to come with you straightaway, Mr. Dillon? I was fixin' to see Miss Kitty. Ah'm wore down of a powerful thirst for a beer."

"Straightaway," said Matt.

"What about lunch?" said Chester.

"After," said Matt.

As he bandaged Ranger's ribs, Doc looked from Matt to Chester. "Must be mighty important, you have to put off lunch," said Doc.

"Yer hungry too, Doc?" said Chester.

"Cold sausage and biscuits will do me for today," said Doc. "My patient here needs tending."

Chester trailed Matt down the stairs from Doc's. Not looking back or waiting for Chester to catch up to him, Matt strode through the brilliant sunlight toward the marshal's office.

Making no effort to keep pace with Matt, Chester took his time. As Matt passed the Long Branch, he heard Chester mumble and his limping gait halted. Matt impatiently turned. Chester stood in front of the batwings, his round brown eyes glimmering reproachfully at Matt.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Chester. "I wanna see Miss Kitty."

"Well, come on in, Chester. Why are you standing out there in the sun." A light yet belly-deep thrill swelled through Matt as Kitty's voice wafted on the hot air to his ears, and he knew of a sudden that he too needed to see and talk to and be near her.

He also knew he couldn't relax in Kitty's company until he talked to Chester alone and had done with it. If Matt and Chester passed the time with Kitty now, she'd at once discern the strain between them and demand to know what happened.

Kitty invariably sympathized with Chester in trouble, and she'd end by berating Matt. On the strength of Kitty's affection for himself, Chester might well dismiss the lecture Matt had laboriously rehearsed in his head. Any solicitude from Kitty raised Chester's spirits above Matt's infrequent reprimands.

Kitty appeared and looked out at them, her pretty face puzzled, and as Chester touched the batwing to push through into the Long Branch, Matt took hold of the swinging door and held it still.

"Matt." Kitty smiled a little from the other side of the batwings. "What's going on?"

"Chester and I need to have a talk, Kitty," said Matt. "We'll see you later on."

"What's so important to talk about, you two can't stop in for a beer?" said Kitty.

"That's jest what Doc said, Miss Kitty," Chester said sorrowfully, nodding.

"Doc didn't say that," said Matt.

"Oh he did too," Chester snapped.

Kitty stepped out on the walk and stood between them. "Matt, did you two bicker?" she said. "What's wrong with Chester?"

"It ain't nothin', Miss Kitty," said Chester. "Don't worry 'bout me. I'll be back to see you right along, maybe."

"Why don't you go back inside, Kitty," said Matt. "It's too hot to stand around on the walk."

"You're not gonna yell at him, are you, Matt?"

"No, I'm not gonna yell at him."

"Well, you're already yellin' at me," said Kitty.

"Kitty, I didn't even raise my voice."

Alarmed, Chester held up a supplicating hand. "Now, Miss Kitty, don't fret," he said. "It's 'tween Mr. Dillon an' me."

"Don't fret about what?" said Kitty.

Matt touched her arm. "I'll tell you later, Kitty," he said.

"I cain't talk none if ah'm parched," Chester said to Matt as they continued walking.

"It's hot, but we're not havin' a drought," said Matt. "There's plenty of drinkin' water."

"A body needs more than water to go on," said Chester.

"This won't take long," said Matt. "You'll survive."

They each drank from the dipper when they reached the office, then Chester fired up the stove to boil coffee. "It's too hot for that, Chester," said Matt. "I'm streaming sweat as it is."

"Mr. Dillon, I cain't face you yellin' at me on an empty belly with no coffee," Chester said in a composed tone. "I kin bile some up in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"Chester, I said I won't yell at you."

"Yeah . . . waal . . . ." said Chester.

Matt sat waiting at the table. Chester poured two cups of coffee, set a cup in front of Matt and moved with his cup to the bed.

"Not on the bed," said Matt. "We'll talk here at the table."

"I'm gettin' almighty tired," said Chester. "The bed's a sight more comfortable."

"This won't take long," Matt repeated. "I figure you know what it's about."

"The gunfight. I guess," said Chester.

"That's right," said the marshal. "If I can't trust you, I can't trust any man in Dodge. Except Doc."

"You don't trust me no more, Mr. Dillon?"

"Chester, I want to. But I didn't think you'd interfere in my fight, when I told you not to, particular. I was faster than Ranger and I knew I was faster. You made it two against one, so it wasn't a fair fight," said Matt.


	2. Chapter 2

Chester wrapped his hands around his coffee cup on the table, his guileless eyes troubled as he met Matt's gaze. "I s'pose it warn't fair now you explain it, Mr. Dillon, you 'an me snarin' Ranger like we done," Chester said, his brows crinkling.

The marshal saw his friend struggling against the confusion creeping up on him, and the cool distance Matt had felt toward Chester since the gunfight began to dissolve. "I don't care it warn't fair on Ranger's account," said Chester. "He wanted to kill you. I jest wisht I'd had the nerve to potshot 'im cold dead through the window there. But I am sorry I meddled up in yer fight when you tole me not to, Mr. Dillon, seein' as you're serious 'bout fightin' fair an' all. I was scared. Ranger said he was faster, an' I recollected Dan Grat of a sudden and lost my head. Can't calculate why I got so addled scared. I jest did."

Resolved to unload everything on his chest about the shooting, Matt stifled an impulse to reach across the table and pat Chester's shoulder. "That's not all," said the marshal. "You put yourself in harm's way when there was no need."

"Well, Mr. Dillon, I said I was sorry," said Chester. A red spot bloomed on each of his cheekbones.

"I know you are," said Matt. "I'm not holding it against you."

"Well forevermore, it seems like you are."

"Chester, I'm not. You have to understand what you did. What's more, I need your word that you'll never interfere like that again when I tell you not to."

Looking into Matt's eyes, Chester raised his jaw a bit. "I caint," he said.

"You can't _what_." Matt's chest tightened, heating up.

"Give you ma word," Chester said, a trifle unsteadily. "On account of I might haveta break it. I won't promise _never_ to mix in yer fightin', not even if you turn me out cuz you can't trust me no more."

Unsure what to say or do next, Matt held Chester's eyes until he looked down into his coffee cup. His chin quivered, the corners of his mouth curving down.

Matt's temper abated. "I won't turn you out, Chester," he said. "We can't always agree, but you're still the only man I trust to work with me. It kinda hurts though that you can't trust me to know what I'm doing as a lawman."

Chester lifted moist eyes. "I didn't think on it that way, Mr. Dillon," he said. "I'm sorry."

"But you still can't give me your word on this," said Matt. Chester pondered a moment, then lowered his head and shook it.

Matt sighed. "Alright," he said. He rose, put on his hat and opened the door as Chester sat watching him. "I'm gonna see if Kitty's had lunch yet," said Matt, his back to Chester. "You comin'?"

"Um tired. I think I'll sleep . . . maybe."

Matt turned. "You're not hungry?"

"A body can't eat whilst he's sleepin'," Chester muttered. The marshal watched as he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He started snoring before Matt closed the door.

Matt told all to Kitty over lunch at Delmonico's, from Hec Ranger's appearance at the marshal's office to Matt's talk with Chester, and Chester foregoing lunch to fall swiftly into a sound sleep.

"Oh Matt," said Kitty. "Poor Chester."

"Kitty, I said what needed saying to him."

"I know," Kitty said. "Matt, Chester thinks the world of you." She and Matt had ordered a refreshing summer dish of cold bass with corn cakes and a salad of salted leeks, cucumbers and tomatoes in vinegar and olive oil. Kitty gave a small shrug, loaded her fork and put it in her mouth. "I think Chester worries about you more than I do," she said as she chewed, her lovely blue eyes warm yet impassive as she regarded Matt.

Matt grinned. "Well, it'd be nice if you worry about me just a little, Kitty," he said. "Not that I want you worryin' yourself skeletal, but there's not much chance of that happening."

"There's no chance of it happening at all," said Kitty. "Starving myself won't keep you safe. It would just make me haggard." She picked up her glass and gulped lemonade. "I can never get enough to drink in this weather."

"You drinkin' like that at the Long Branch?" said Matt.

"They're my bottles," said Kitty. "I'll get stone drunk if I feel like it." Matt stomped his boot and laughed.

"You have to patch things up with Chester, though," said Kitty. "We can't let him pine away, Matt."

"I meant what I told him," said Matt.

"You can mean what you tell him and still put it behind you."

"I don't know, Kitty," Matt said. "If I bury this hatchet today, Chester's likely to forget our talk by sundown."

"Maybe," said Kitty. "But he won't be hurt any worse."

"That's all you care about in all this? That he's not hurtin'?" said Matt.

"Yes Matt, it is all I care about. It distresses me as much to see Chester hurt as it does to see you hurt," said Kitty.

"He just walked in," said Matt. He and Kitty sat at a table by the wall. Kitty's back was to the door, and she turned.

Chester looked for the marshal and Kitty, saw them watching him and moved to their table.

"Chester," said Kitty, smiling.

"Miss Kitty." Chester took off his hat and held it in both hands, his face solemn. Kitty thought he looked tired. "Mr. Dillon, Doc come by the jail and says fer you ta go to his office when you done et. He says Hec Ranger woke an' askin' for to see you."

"I bet he is," said Matt.

"Pull up a chair and sit down, Chester," said Kitty. "You'll feel better after some lunch."

"Well. I _am_ empty," said Chester. "I'll set here if you don't mind much, Mr. Dillon."

"Of course I don't mind, Chester," said Matt.

"The bass and fixins looks mighty good," said Chester.

"Let's order you some," said Kitty. She waved her arm to catch the waiter's attention.

"I take it you . . . enlightened . . . Doc about the gunfight with Ranger," Matt said to Chester.

"I was sleepin' when Doc come in," said Chester. "He shook me to wakin', and when ma eyes opened up he's lookin' close at me and asked did I have lunch. He give me a quarter and said go eat at Delmonico's but first tell 'im what happened 'tween you an' me. So I did."

The waiter stepped up to their table, carrying a tray with a napkin and utensils, a glass of water and coffee cup, a water pitcher and steaming coffee pot. "Bring him the bass, please," said Kitty.

"Yes, ma'am." The waiter refilled Kitty and Matt's glasses, and poured hot coffee in Kitty's cup first, then Matt's, and filled Chester's cup.

"You think this Ranger will call you out again, Matt?" said Kitty.

"I don't think so," said Matt. "He's fast; a man that fast has sharp sight. I figure he didn't miss seeing me beat him on the draw, even though he turned from me to aim at Chester. I'm guessing Ranger will tell me he plans to ambush me. He'll want me to know, if I'm right on this. That's part of his game."

"Oh, Matt, no," said Kitty. "I wish you could go straight on up to Doc's while Ranger's layin' there and shoot him through the heart."

"So do I," said Chester. "I wisht _I _had the spine to kill that Ranger."

Matt thumped his coffee cup on the table. "Chester, we just _talked _about that," he said. "Stay away from him, understand? Don't interfere in this again."

"Matt," said Kitty.

"Kitty, this is between Chester and me."

Kitty's mouth tightened to a thin line. "I take it you think _I'm _interfering in your business, too," she said.

"Mr. Dillon don't mean you, Miss Kitty," said Chester in dismay. "Jest me."

"He just said I was, Chester," said Kitty.

"Oh," said Chester. "Oh my goodness."

"I best get over to Doc's, Kitty," said Matt, dropping his napkin on his plate. "I'll walk you far as the Long Branch if you're finished eating."

"You go ahead," said Kitty. "I'll stay and keep Chester company."

"No need fer that, Miss Kitty," said Chester. "You go on with Mr. Dillon. I'll get along alright."

"Chester, I'm not gonna jump up and walk out of here with Matt and leave you settin' alone. That's rude," said Kitty.

"Well, gracious, Miss Kitty, I . . . ." Chester looked helplessly from Kitty to Matt.

The waiter approached with his tray and put a plate containing a fat bass and a generous helping of salad in front of Chester, and set a saucer with three big corn cakes dripping butter beside the plate. Chester perked up, the strain vanishing from his face. "My, that looks good," he said, as the waiter refilled his coffee cup. He picked up his fork and ate heartily, his eyes fixed on his plate.

Kitty's frown melted and she looked at Matt, who returned her smile. Although impatient to hear what Ranger had to tell him, Matt's manners would not allow him to stand up and depart while a woman he'd dined with still sat at table, especially when the woman was Kitty. The marshal shifted in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the table.

Watching Matt, Kitty relented. Eating by himself would not trouble Chester, who was absorbed with his lunch. "Chester, I think I'll walk with Matt after all," said Kitty. "You sure you don't mind?"

His mouth full, Chester looked at her in surprise. "No, Miss Kitty," he said. "I don't mind at all."

Kitty touched his arm. "Come by the Long Branch when you finish your lunch," she said. "I'll buy you a beer."

"Thank you," said Chester. "I will."

Kitty and Matt walked slowly, like the few people who braved the midday heat to venture out of doors for any length of time. Most only came out if they had to. Kitty held a sprigged pale-green parasol over her head, her arm linked around Matt's.

"I'm sorry, Kitty," said Matt. "You have a right to speak out whenever you're of a mind to when Chester and I disagree. You have a right to speak your mind about anything and I want you to. I set store by what you say." Which in truth he did. Kitty's forthrightness was one of the traits Matt loved most about her, and he had no desire to inhibit it, though he was sure he couldn't anyway.

Kitty gazed up into his eyes looking earnestly down into hers, and a warmth surged through her that had nothing to do with the hot summer air. Matt's nearness, the feel of his strong arm dampened by the heat, enlivened her senses. Kitty tightened her hold on his arm and rested her head against him as they walked.

"He'll put this thing with Ranger to the back of his memory if you don't keep reminding him, Matt," said Kitty. "Chester. He'll be fine if you act like it never happened."

"Well, I don't know if I should, Kitty. If he's got it into his head to protect me from every man wants a showdown, then I need to keep that in mind so I'll know to protect Chester from himself and the next gunman who comes to town. If I let myself haze over what happened, I might not stay aware of all this."

Kitty lifted her head to look up again at the marshal. "Chester's very fond of you, Matt," she said. "Why he'd suddenly think of the time Dan Grat shot you . . . who knows why. You and me and Doc don't always understand Chester. He was afraid for you, and he still worries about you too much to promise not to try and save you from the next gunman. That's what this is about."

They reached the Long Branch and stopped in front of the batwings. "Come in for a beer before you go up to Doc's?" said Kitty.

Matt didn't want to part from her at that moment, even for a short spell. Kitty remained the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, the most genuine and endearing, and the strongest.

Matt's gaze swept the deserted street, then he looked over the batwings. The saloon was empty except for Sam, who was polishing beer mugs, his back to the bar. Matt took Kitty in his arms, kissed her long and tenderly, let go of her and stepped back. Her mouth open, Kitty touched her hand to her chest, dazed that he'd kiss her anywhere but in her room, even though no one was about. Matt had kissed her a few precious times in public, and Kitty carefully preserved the remembrance of each time.

He briefly caressed her face. "I have to hear what Ranger's got to tell me," said Matt. "I'll try and stop by later."

Kitty nodded. "You best go in out of the sun," said Matt.

"I'll watch you walk the rest of the way to Doc's first," said Kitty.

Matt smiled, a bit concerned that she'd stand longer in the heat, yet pleased that she wanted to watch him walk away. "Alright, Kitty," he said.

Doc was taking a tally of his medicinals in a small notebook. He'd covered a sheet with neat minuscule numbers, and was starting a fresh page.

Squinting, Matt leaned over Doc's shoulder. "How d'you write those figures so tiny, Doc."

"It's a craft," said Doc. "Dates back to the 7th century." With Matt as an audience, Doc warmed to his task, moving his small adept hand more quickly and adding flourishes.

"That's some fine artwork," said Matt. "You make it look easy."

"Took me awhile to become this proficient," Doc said modestly.

Hec Ranger wasn't on the table or lounge. "You put Ranger to bed in there?" Matt inclined his head at the closed door to the bedroom.

"He said layin' on the table gave him misery," said Doc, "and when I said I'd help him to the lounge, he said he'd never mend proper unless he convalesced in bed. He's a particular sort. Good-lookin' fellas like him are sometimes."

"I thought as much from his fancy duds and the games he plays," said Matt. "He's a slick one."

"He's sleeping," said Doc, as Matt moved to the bedroom door. "The morphine puts him to sleep."

"He's about to wake up," said the marshal, opening the door. Doc followed him into the room.

Matt had seen many people in morphine-induced sleep, and they always looked like the drug had made them swoon. Doc said the narcotic caused a state deeper than sleep yet lighter than unconsciousness.

Matt stepped close to the bed. "Ranger?" he said. Ranger didn't stir. _"Ranger," _said Matt. The man slept on.

"Don't shake him," Doc warned. He wrung a sponge floating in a water basin on the bed table and dabbed Ranger's forehead, temples and eyelids.

Ranger opened his eyes. "Yella belly," he flatly accused, his voice weak and reedy. His tone held no rancor.

"Something you want to tell me?" said Matt.

"Yes. Alone. Without Doc in the room."

"Alright," said Doc. He left the room, closed the door and leaned against it, his ear to the crack between the door and the jamb.

"You and your partner planned that trick on account of you were scared to fight like a man," said Ranger. He spoke with detached superiority, and Matt thought he sounded disappointed. "I knew you two were scheming something when you took so long to crawl out of that jailhouse and throw down." Dim from the morphine, his yellow-brown eyes searched Matt's face, seeming to expect a reaction.

"Mm-hmm. Anything else?" Matt said patiently. He knew the gunman believed Matt had plotted with Chester to get the jump on Ranger because the marshal feared he'd lose the fight. Were Matt in Ranger's boots, he'd think the same. That Ranger considered Matt a coward somewhat bothered him, and he inwardly rebuked himself for feeling troubled by anything a man like Ranger thought of him.

"You got no shame about what you did, that you were scared," said Ranger. "A U.S. marshal. You got no code for that."

Matt's temper stirred, and he silently upbraided himself again for feeling the least riled. "Ranger, if you expect me to defend myself to you, you're dead wrong," said Matt. "You don't deserve an explanation from me, and you're not getting one. I aimed to kill you. You're lucky you're alive."

"Turnabout is fair play, Marshal," said Ranger. "And you played dirty."

He paused, again watching Matt's face for a reaction. The marshal quelled an urge to backhand him, not for threatening Matt, which for a man of Ranger's character was understandable, but for his trickster talk. "A lot of men tried to bushwhack me," said Matt. "Most of them ended up dead."

"I won't end up dead," said Ranger. "Not if I survive this bullet hole you put in me. Just say . . . if some fella with a grudge against you shot you in the back, Marshal. Not many men who get it in the back end up killing the shooter. There'll be no witnesses. No one heard our little talk, so no one will trace anything to me." Ranger's voice had grown increasingly faint. Matt could see the rise and fall of his chest under the bedclothes.

"Go back to sleep, Ranger," said Matt.

Ranger coughed. "Doc," he said. "I need water." Matt filled a cup from the water pitcher by the bed, lifted Ranger's head and put the cup to his mouth.

"Maybe I won't shoot you in the back," he whispered after he drank. "Maybe I'll call out to you before I pull the trigger, give you a fighting chance."

"Alright," said Matt, and turned to leave the room. He opened the door, and as he stepped through the doorway Doc came round from the other side of the door and bumped into him. Matt closed the door, and Doc went to the stove to pour coffee.

"You were listening at the door, Doc," said Matt, amused.

"You need a witness and your doctor's advice when these things happen," said Doc. He handed Matt a cup of coffee. "I'm that witness, and my advice is, be careful."

"Thanks. That's very helpful," said Matt. "Your patient either fell back to sleep or passed out. Between maligning me for a coward and promising to ambush me, he wore himself out."

"I'll check on him," said Doc, reaching for his stethoscope. "Don't leave yet, Matt. We need to talk."

"Doc, Chester already let me know he told you everything that happened about Ranger, and I told all to Kitty, too. Can't we let it rest?"

"Wait just a minute," said Doc, heading for the bedroom.

Matt sighed, seated himself on Doc's lounge and sipped his coffee. Doc returned to the front room a moment later, closing the door to the bedroom. "He's sleeping," said Doc. "Looks like he exhausted himself talking to you, but I think he'll make a full recovery."

"That might complicate things for me," Matt said wryly.

"Yes . . . . " Looking at the marshal, Doc shook his head. He could think of no reply. He could only worry, and he permitted himself to worry just so much about Matt. Doc had patients to attend to.

"Did you mend your squabble with Chester?" said Doc. "This rift between you two is wearing on him, Matt."

"It's no _squabble, _Doc. It's a serious problem, and if I go back on what I said, Chester might not understand how serious. As it is, it only took lunch to lift his spirits," said Matt. "Kitty and I saw him at Delmonico's, and soon as the waiter served his food he had no other cares."

"Good," said Doc. "That's what I expected. So long as Chester eats tasty, hearty meals, has his coffee and beer and passes the time with Kitty regular, this nonsense with you will disappear clean out of his head before we know it. Oh, and rest, too," said Doc. "He needs a lot of sleep. Don't be too hard on Chester, Matt. He was only trying to protect you from a killer."

"I know that, Doc," said Matt. "I just never thought he'd go this far trying to rescue me."

"Course he would," said Doc. "It's how he feels about you. I can tell you one thing. When Chester risked his life to save mine, I was mighty grateful, by golly. You were the faster gun this time, and it rankles you cuz you didn't need Chester's help. Supposing Ranger outdrew you? Your pride would be intact if Chester obeyed your order not to interfere, but you'd be lying in that bed instead of Ranger right now, or you'd be dead, Matt."

Matt nodded thoughtfully. "That's good, Doc," he said. "I'll try and remember what you said."

"It'll be three, four days before Ranger's mended sufficient to be on his feet and out of here," said Doc. "I'll tell you when he leaves. So you'll know to keep your guard up."

"I appreciate that, Doc."


	3. Chapter 3

"Watch the windows, Chester," Matt directed, engrossed in his copy of the Topeka Daily Commonwealth. "Keep your eye out for Ranger." The marshal had strapped on his gunbelt after Doc stopped by early on his way to visit patients and told Matt that Ranger returned to Dodge House.

"Yessir," said Chester. "You want I should trail Ranger if he leaves his room, Mr. Dillon? Let you know what he's doin' and who he's talkin' to?"

"No," said the marshal. "He has sharp eyes; he might notice you."

As Matt read and sipped coffee, he heard Chester checking a cylinder and loading chambers. Matt at first thought nothing of it, as they kept one shotgun loaded. Then he realized from the sound that Chester was loading a six-gun, and Matt looked up from his paper in time to see his partner slip the weapon under his belt.

"What are you doing with the gun, Chester," said Matt.

"I got it out the desk drawer when you warn't lookin'," Chester sheepishly said.

"Well, put it back. If I need you to cover me, you'll use a shotgun. On my say-so only."

"But Mr. Dillon, I might need the six-shooter ta hand, too," Chester argued. "I kin git a purchase on it faster'n a shotgun."

Matt put down his paper, came from behind the desk, stood in front of Chester and held out his hand. "Give me the gun, Chester."

As Chester looked at him, Matt knew his friend was caught inside the turmoil of his feelings. Matt took the gun out of Chester's belt and returned the weapon to the desk drawer.

"I'll carry the shotgun, then. For when we go outside," said Chester.

"Only if I tell you to," Matt said with calm patience.

"Yessir."

The day passed with no sign of Ranger. They didn't see him on Front Street, or at Delmonico's or the Long Branch. The sun still burned brightly when Matt and Chester went to see Kitty at the Long Branch after dinner. Doc was there, and the four of them sat at a table with beers in front of them to talk things over.

"I figure Ranger either stayed in bed at Dodge House all day, or he's hiding out waiting to ambush me in the dark," said Matt.

"He's poorly from the bullet wound," said Doc. "I told him I'd come by his room today to check on him, but he wasn't there."

"Be careful walking your rounds tonight, Matt," said Kitty.

"I'll take a shotgun and go the rounds with Mr. Dillon, Miss Kitty," said Chester.

"No, Chester," said Matt.

"Fer heaven sakes, Mr. Dillon. How kin I be any use to you when yer always protectin' me?"

"Chester, you can be of use by trusting me to take care of myself."

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Dillon, but you aint tuk care of yourself every time. You jest aint is all."

"He got you there, Matt," said Doc.

"Matt. It won't help you to stay safe if you keep quarreling with Chester," said Kitty.

"Gracious, Miss Kitty," said Chester. " 'Taint—"

"I know, Chester. You don't think it's Matt's fault," said Kitty. "But the two of you need to put what happened with that gunfight behind you so you can back each other if you need to fight this Ranger again."

"Kitty's right, Matt," said Doc.

"I know, Doc," said Matt. "I'm not ignoring you, Kitty."

"You never ignore me, Matt. I do wish you'd take heed, though."

Not knowing how to answer Kitty, Matt looked into her eyes and nodded, waited a courteous moment and said, "I'll sleep nights in the office 'til Ranger plays his hand. I calculate it won't be long before he does."

Matt walked his rounds without incident. The night air was warm and thick with moisture, and after staying indoors to escape the sun all day, folks had come out to the restaurants and saloons, to Varieties Theatre or to play pool. Sleepy and quiet during the sweltering summer days, Dodge City came to life at night, a cacophony of piano music filling the air on every street.

Chester was asleep when Matt returned to the office. His friend had dragged out a bunk from one of the jail cells, leaving the bed near the desk so the marshal and Chester would sleep positioned on either side of the windows. Chester had placed a shotgun on the floor at the head of his bed, and Matt followed suit with his handgun, still in its holster so he could easily grab hold of the gun in the dark.

The marshal figured if he attuned his ears before dozing, he could hear Ranger's stealthy bootsteps on the walkway outside and sense his presence at the window. The thought of Ranger gunning for him elicited no apprehension in Matt, and though he only meant to doze, he fell into a sound sleep.

Chester awakened when Matt lay down. Worriment for Mr. Dillon had invaded Chester's sleep, and he thought he should stay awake now, keep his ears open and his eyes on the windows.

He lay quietly in wakefulness for what seemed a long spell. Matt's deep even breathing was making Chester sleepy again, and just as a wide yawn took him over, he heard a board creak outside.

Chester dared not move or call in a hushed voice to wake Mr. Dillon, for fear Ranger would start shooting, if Ranger was even out there. Fully clad except for his boots, Chester reached for the shotgun on the floor by the bed, slowly and noiselessly rose to his feet, and aimed the shotgun at the window closest to his bed.

Inside the office the morning of the gunfight long enough to get the lay of things, Ranger would likely recollect where the bed was, and hope that Matt slept there.

Chester saw the dark outline of Ranger's profile through the window and thumbed the shotgun hammer. The metallic click woke Matt, and the finely hewn contour of Ranger's face jerked and froze. _"Don't move," _Chester said, _"or I'll blow your head off." _

Matt jumped up from the bed, leveling his six-gun at the window. "Put your hands up," said Matt, and two shadowy hands appeared in the window.

"I'm going out to get him, Chester," said the marshal. "If he moves, shoot 'im." Matt went out in his socks, took Ranger's gun from the holster and put it in the marshal's belt.

"Get inside," Matt said to Ranger.

"Can I put my arms down?" said Ranger.

"Go ahead," said Matt. Chester put the shotgun in its place against the wall, lighted the lamp, took the jail key from its peg and opened the door to the near jail cell.

"Just a minute," said Ranger. "I've committed no crime. I have a right to walk the street at night."

"I'm locking you up this time, Ranger," said Matt.

Ranger stood still in front of the cell. Mindful of his gunshot wound, Matt took his arm and forced him inside the cell, and Chester locked the door. Ranger's fingers closed around the bars as he looked at Matt.

"Doc witnessed our talk in his bedroom," said Matt. "He had his ear to the door and heard every word." Already pale from his wound, Ranger's face turned ashen under his clear brown skin, his gold eyes murky. He wore a cream silk vest and shirt and tan linen suit, and Matt and Chester saw in the lamplight that one side of his vest was bloody.

"Mr. Dillon . . . ." said Chester.

"And you threatened to shoot me and Chester when we were unarmed, if I refused to fight you that morning you called me out," Matt went on.

"That's sufficient evidence of malicious intent to lock you up until a judge hears your case. Maybe you won't go to prison, but you'll get some jail time, and I'll recommend a proviso on your release that you'll be sent to the State Penitentiary if you ever show your face in Dodge again."

Ranger's eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed like a dropped rag doll in a tangle of lean arms and legs. "I knowed it," said Chester, unlocking the cell door. "I cud see he's gonna faint away, but I figgered you for wantin' to finish yer talk howsoever, Mr. Dillon. It aint no matter; it's as much as he deserves. We done 'im a kindness by not shootin' him dead."

Matt put his hands under Ranger's arms while Chester took hold of his legs, and they lifted him and carried him to the bunk. "Ah'll go fer Doc," said Chester.

Chester could see from the softened shining cast of Mr. Dillon's eyes and the upward curve of his mouth that he was fixing to tell Chester what a good job he'd done, how highly Mr. Dillon regarded his work and such. Chester had done what he had to do, and he considered his day-to-day work nothing much. Mr. Dillon's praise embarrassed Chester while at the same time making him warm, sure and strong, and all the feelings to once made him nigh afraid to listen.

He limped fast out of the jail cell, Matt following. Chester closed the cell door and turned the key in the lock, fumbling in his hurry, then slid the key ring on its peg and sat on his bed, rushing to pull on his boots.

Matt sat on the other bunk to put his boots on. "You did good work tonight, Chester," said Matt. "I'm proud of you."

"Oh . . . well." Chester tried to repress his grin. "I best go for Doc," he said, reaching for his hat. "Ranger's a layin' back there moanin'."

The marshal stood up. "If he's making all that noise, he's not dying," said Matt.

"Doc'd want me ta hightail it up there and wake 'im though, seein' the time he spent diggin' out the bullet and nursing an' sech."

"We'd better keep Doc happy, then," said Matt.

"I dunno as he'll be happy 'bout it," said Chester. "It's what he wants is all."

"Chester," said Matt, as his friend opened the door.

Chester turned, anxious to be off to get Doc yet patiently waiting. "Yes, sir?"

"I uh . . . ." Matt put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I just want to say we did fine by Ranger when all's said and done, and we're both alive and well. I'd say that's all that counts." Chester smiled wide and went out into the hot night. Matt heard him singing as he hastened away to get Doc.

Ranger's groaning grew louder, and Matt moved to the jail cell. Ranger had come to and was hugging his ribs. There was a spreading blood stain on the mattress.

He went quiet and still when he saw Matt. "I'm bleeding to death," said Ranger.

"You'll live," said Matt. "Doc's coming. He'll give you something for the pain. You want some water?"

"Whiskey."

"Not with that wound," said Matt. "The hole's too close to your entrails."

"Coffee," said Ranger.

"I'll fix some." Although Chester made better coffee, Matt didn't wait for him to return with Doc. Ranger's misery needed easing, and the coffee would help a little. Matt would do his best to make the coffee palatable.

END


End file.
